


F-R-E-A-K

by afinecollector (orphan_account)



Series: Hand to Mouth [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Aspie!Sherlock if you squint, Brotherly Love, Deaf, Deaf Character, First Day of School, Gen, Mycroft tries, clearly public school brats, deaf kid/hearing school, deaf pride, deaf!lock, the holmes brothers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/afinecollector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his first day at school, Mycroft gives Sherlock plenty of reassurance. But it's Joe - his new interpreter - who inspires Sherlock with confidence and Deaf Pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	F-R-E-A-K

**Author's Note:**

> Some signs are hard to describe so if you're lost in translation - I feel you!

“It's going to be fine.” 

Sherlock watched Mycroft's mouth moving, slowly getting used to him speaking more than signing. As the summer had ended, and school’s first term was merely two hours away, Mycroft had signed less and less, and used his voice a lot more. Sherlock was coping, but he hated it. 

_I’m not going to know anyone._

Mycroft softened his features into a sad smile. “You'll get to know them.” He promised, pushing the hot teapot across the table to his brother. “And I'll see you at lunch.” 

_What if the interpreter is an idiot?_ Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 

Mycroft smiled widely, “Then be a brat.” 

Sherlock looked impressed with that idea. _That could work._

Mycroft laughed. He was sure Sherlock would do fine at the school - he'd seen Sherlock manage in much worse situations in the past and he was without a doubt that his brother would sail through his secondary education without a glitch. It was his classmates that worried Mycroft. He knew how cruel kids could be, and he knew that one look at Sherlock’s hearing aids or a moment spent watching the “weird deaf kid” who waved his hands around would be all it would take for somebody to make Sherlock into an easy target. 

Mycroft waved his hand in Sherlock's face. The younger Holmes looked up. “I had Mrs Abberton, your form tutor, a few years back too.” Mycroft said. “Teach her your name sign. She knows BSL, but she'll fingerspell your name and it’s tedious.” 

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. With his right forefinger and middle finger pointed like a gun, he waved them down in an even stroke. _Again…_ He looked at his brother, a little embarrassed. _Too many words._ He knew why Mycroft was doing it, and he knew it was good practice, but he was on the very cusp of begging his brother to sign. 

“Your tutor, Mrs Abberton. Teach her your name sign.” Mycroft repeated, not slowing his speech pattern or over pronouncing, but trying to be clearer. “Really, you're going to be fine. Stop worrying.” 

_You promise me about lunchtime?_ Sherlock asked anxiously. 

Nodding, Mycroft pointed his right index finger to his chin and pulled it away, laying the side of his right hand, fingers outstretched, against the flat palm of his left hand. “Promise.”

 

 

 

Sherlock sucked in his cheeks as he stared around him, taking everything in. The school was large and archaic, with huge stonework and the windows were etched with lead markings. The early September sun was bright and warm, and it cast shadows in the corners of the large building. The place was alive with people, dressed almost identically, smiling and huddled in groups. Mycroft touched his hand to Sherlock's back and he turned. 

“Dad’s leaving.” Mycroft said, pointing to their father behind them at the door to the car. 

Sherlock waved his hand at his father, who quickly signed a promise to collect them at four PM before he got back into the car and carefully drove away, through the huddles of arriving bodies and cars. 

_It looks so big._ Sherlock winced, his expressions animated as he looked at Mycroft to his left. 

“You get used to it.” Mycroft smiled. 

_Is it haunted?_ Sherlock looked excited at the prospect and Mycroft couldn't help laughing at Sherlock's animation. 

“Not sure,” Mycroft shrugged. “It's old though.” He turned, finding a friend of his approaching, and he swallowed in anticipation of the reaction he was about to receive. 

“Long time no see, Mikey. Good summer?” The lad asked, shaking Mycroft's hand. 

“Longer than anticipated, Michael.” Mycroft said, pulling back his hand. “You?” 

“The family took a trip to Scotland. Needless to say I chose not to partake in that frivolity and remained at the estate.” Michael made a face. “You do much with the time?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Mostly family things. Speaking of, this is my brother - Sherlock. First year.” Mycroft turned to his brother and felt a twinge in his stomach as he saw a look of complete confusion on Sherlock's face. “Sherlock,” he said as he signed. “This is my friend - Michael.” 

“Woah, Mikey, what's with the hands!?” Michael exclaimed and laughed. 

“Sherlock is Deaf.” Mycroft said, blunt and immediate. “He can lip read, so perhaps you would want to be careful about choosing your next words.” 

Michael looked at Sherlock, falling a foot shorter than his brother and looking somewhat different with a chubbier face and a mass of dark curls. “Nice to meet you, shortstop.” Michael said, his words slow. 

Sherlock glanced his Mycroft, then back at Michael. _I would like to say that it is nice to meet you too, but no. And being five foot one, I am not exactly short for an eleven year old._

Mycroft placed his hand placatingly on Sherlock's shoulder. “I'm going to walk him around to the first year block, I'll meet up with you in registration.” Mycroft bid goodbye to Michael and guided Sherlock awake as the younger Holmes bore frowning eyes into Mycroft's friend. 

_He is a dickhead, where did you find him?_ Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 

“That is not exactly the way you're going to make friends.” Mycroft muttered, knowing full well Sherlock would have missed every word. He walked through the expansive grounds with his brother and stopped outside of a single-storey add-on that fit in well with the original structure of the large school. “This is your block.” Mycroft spoke as he signed. “Your tutor will meet you inside at first bell. And that-,” he pointed behind Sherlock, who turned to look, at a young man in his mid-twenties walking toward them. “-Is your interpreter.” 

_He looks younger than me._ Sherlock signed with boredom etched over his face. 

“Then he'll blend in.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “If things are really bad, I have study periods for second and fifth do you can ask to come and find me in the library. Otherwise, stick with the interpreter and just try your best. Mummy knows it is not going to be easy, so if it doesn't work out we can always look into a school for the deaf.” Mycroft didn't like saying it, but he knew that a school that was tailor made for deaf individuals might be the option if Sherlock wasn't able to keep up. 

_Where is the library?_

Mycroft flattened his mouth into a thin line. “It will be okay, Sherlock. You are going to do well here.” 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and wet his lips nervously. _I already don't like it._

“Give it a chance.” Mycroft urged, smiling as the young man came to a stop behind Sherlock. “Joe, isn't it?” Mycroft held out his hand to the young man, who truly did blend in well, with his straight smile and tailored suit. 

“Joe Alexander.” The young man shook Mycroft's hand. “Holmes, the elder I assume.” 

Mycroft nodded, and proceeded to sign as he spoke. “This is Sherlock. Sherlock - this is Joe.” 

Joe turned to face Sherlock politely and began to sign smoothly, speaking as he did so. “Good to meet you, Sherlock. I suppose it should be made clear from the outset I'm not here to make you look like the class attraction. I'll simply interpret what is said and ensure that anything you need to say will be passed on precisely.” 

Sherlock nodded his head, his mouth drawn to the side in an expression Mycroft all too well as anxiety. He turned to Mycroft and raised his eyebrows. _Lunchtime. You promise?_

Mycroft nodded his head. “I'll find you, somewhere outside of here. Okay?” Sherlock nodded his head. “Keep an eye on him, won't you?” He turned to Joe. “He's less of a people person than I am and highly populated areas make him anxious. Keep him in the loop, let him do the talking when he feels like it, and if he says he needs to leave then you have to facilitate that. Got it?” 

Frowning, Joe nodded his head nervously. “Got it.”

 

 

 

Sherlock sat toward the rear of the class, assigned to a seat on his own, but for Joe. The room was buzzing with chat - some children knew one another whereas others were completely new to the people as well as their surroundings. Mrs Abberton was a kindly woman, mid-sixties with a short, bobbed haircut that was already grey. She was small, petite in every sense, but her voice was sure and her demeanour commanded as much respect as any more brooding member of staff might have. 

“Okay, let's all settle down and take our assigned seats.” She said, clapping her hands together twice to gain everyone's attention. In a moment, the class was silent and everyone was seated with their eyes fixed on her. “Welcome - I am thrilled to see so many bright new faces for a new school year. I only hope you are all as ready to learn as those in the years before you have been. I am Mrs Abberton and as well as your form tutor, I also teach English Literature. Many of you will have already seen on your timetables that you are assigned to my class and I do look forward to seeing you there. Today will mostly be spent orientating yourselves to the school and meeting your class teachers, as well as getting to know one another…” 

Sherlock patted his hand against Joe’s shoulder as Mrs Abberton turned around and began to write on the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. _Orientation?_. He asked, clarifying Joe’s interpretation. _Like map-reading?_

Joe shook his head. “No! Finding your way around the school. Library, canteen, lesson blocks…” He elaborated for clarity. 

Sherlock nodded his head. _Library._

Joe smiled. “I went here; I can show you all of that. So for now,” he nodded at the teacher and began signing her words again. 

“Right gentleman, you have all been assigned buddies. The person you are sitting with will be your buddy until the October break. After this, your buddy will change. This year, you will get to know everyone in this class closely and trust me, you will thank me for that. Now then.” Mrs Abberton placed her hands on her hips. “Let's get to know one another.”

She selected a child at the front of the class, instructed him to stand and tell something about himself. Sherlock watched in horror as went around the room, and about had a heart attack when it eventually became his turn. But Joe was endeared when she approached and began to sign - albeit slowly and nervously. 

“Sherlock. Why don't you tell us something about yourself?” She said, her signs slowing further as she spoke. 

Sherlock shook his head and quickly swept his hands across one another in front of him. His meaning was clear. 

Joe could hear the hushed whispers that began as more of the class began to notice that some kid and his clearly older “buddy” were waving their hands around, and now the teacher was doing it too! He nudged Sherlock with his elbow. “Want me to make something up?” 

Sherlock crinkled his nose. _Everyone is looking._

“They're going to. Most of them have probably never even considered that being deaf exists in anyone who isn't their granddad.” Joe said and Sherlock's lips quirked into almost a smirk. 

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked up at Mrs Abberton as she hovered in front of his desk. _Anything about me?_ he asked. 

Joe repeated the question vocally and Mrs Abberton nodded. “Anything at all.” She smiled. 

_I used to have Red Setter - he was called Redbeard._ Sherlock signed. 

Joe registered the few giggles at the noises that accompanied Sherlock's animated signs and was glad when a firm look from their new teacher silenced them in an instant. 

Sherlock touched Joe’s arm and shook his head when Joe looked at him. _I hate it._ he signed viciously, both hands cupping in to sign his hatred with feeling. _I'm deaf - I'm not blind._

“It's all new to them too.” Joe tried to reason. “Like I said, sign language and being deaf is probably strange to them. They've probably never been around anyone deaf before. So own that title - give them something to want to learn, want to get to know. It's a shame that it's a boys here; you could have been the mysterious deaf boy to pick up girls.” Joe liked the small, breathy giggle he enticed from deep in Sherlock's throat. “Honestly, give it a chance. They're only looking because they're intrigued.”

Sherlock pulled his mouth to the side and gave an unsure nod of his head. _Fine._

 

 

 

“Are you sure you're alright waiting here for your brother?” Joe asked. He and Sherlock stood outside of the first year block with the sun still warm above them, stretching their shadows somewhat despite the sun being at it’s highest point. 

Sherlock nodded his head. _He said he would come here._

Joe nodded his head. “Okay then. Well - I'm going to take my lunch break, but I will meet you back here in one hour. You have a history class for fifth period, that's in the fourth block.” Joe said carefully. 

Sherlock nodded his head again. _Just go!_ his expression changed to mocking. _Mycroft is coming, I'll be okay._

Joe laughed lightly. “Alright! One hour. I'll see you later.”

Sherlock hugged his arms around himself, holding his bag against his chest, as he watched Joe walk off into the rabbles of boys and young men that filled the inner quad and poured from the surrounding blocks to enjoy their lunch break. He watched them intently - they huddled together on benches, picked at lunch packs and shared drinks. He wondered what they were talking about, if any of them remembered their first day here all those years back, if anyone of them ever felt like the visual spectacle that he did. 

He turned his head as the light wind picked up and blew his hair into his eyes, turning his face into the breeze so that his curls tumbled backwards and out of the way. But he felt self conscious, wary that he'd just exposed his hearing aids, and turned again, letting the dying-off bluster thrust his curls back into place.

He jumped a moment later when a hand touched down against his shoulder and spun around, his eyes wide before he settled at seeing Mycroft looking incredibly apologetic.

Mycroft's hand rubbed a gentle circle in the centre of his chest. “Sorry, Sherlock.” He said with crooked eyebrows. “Hard not to sneak up on you, though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sherlock's right hand rubbed against his left shoulder, middle and index fingers extended, as his hand made two, short sweeping movements toward his neck, grazing against his collarbone. _I have to pee._ He had clung onto the simple, Makaton sign even as he grew up. It was easy, and while obvious to those who signed it didn't openly announce, as some obvious signs could, what it was he was saying.

Mycroft nodded, “Come on, there's a bathroom up near the canteen.” He led Sherlock through the school grounds. “How was the first half of the day?”

Sherlock rocked both arms side to side, his fingers moving as if tinkling. _Long-winded._ His face displayed clear, exaggerated boredom. 

Mycroft smiled a little. “They're old fashioned teachers; you can't expect them to be to-the-point like you.” He led Sherlock inside a large doorway. “The canteen is in there - we can eat lunch. Bathroom is there…” He pointed to the right. “I'll wait out here for you.” 

Mycroft frowned at Sherlock as he stepped out of the bathroom a moment later. “What's wrong?” He asked. “You look nervous.” 

Sherlock hated that word. _I'm not._

Mycroft shook his head. “Fine - come on, let's eat before the bell rings.” 

Mycroft found a seat in the corner of the canteen that two of his friends had already occupied with the knowledge Mycroft would be bringing Sherlock along to lunch, too. He encouraged Sherlock to sit down, promising him he would bring his lunch across to him. Sherlock was reluctant to be left. 

_I don't know them._ His signed were sharp and Mycroft watched him pull his lips to the side. 

“You met Michael before, and the other is James. Both are reasonable people, and neither will even speak to you if you'd prefer it. Sit down - I'd like to eat before lunch ends.” Mycroft spoke without signs and Sherlock frowned deeply at him. 

_You're being cruel._ He glared at his brother. _Don't abandon me with people I don't know._

Mycroft watched the fierceness with which Sherlock signed the word ‘abandon’ and it tugged at his heart a little. “I'm not abandoning you.” He signed silently. “I'm just picking up lunch.” 

_Don't you understand me? This is difficult. I don't like it here._

The fact that his little brother looked like he might cry made Mycroft feel bad. He wasn't sure if he felt like he hadn't done enough to help - perhaps felt guilty - or if he just felt genuinely sorry for how difficult Sherlock was finding it to navigate a hearing school. But he had never and would never give Sherlock an easier ride just because of his deafness. Sherlock had always just been Sherlock, his whole life, and he would not start treating him differently now. 

“Take a seat. I'll be two minutes at the most. James knows a little Sherlockese. Try talking to him, you might be surprised that not everybody who is hearing is shocked by deaf people.” Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and raised his eyebrows urging him on. 

_S-h-e-r-l-o-c-k-e-s-e?_ Sherlock's long fingers quickly spelled Mycroft's word. 

Mycroft laughed as he nodded. “That's what I said.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, _That's racist._ He rolled his eyes and exhaled through his nose. _Fine. I'll sit and wait. Get me tea._

 

 

 

“Can anyone tell me what, exactly, history is?” Mister Rayburne was a stoical man with a moustache to match. Tall, broad and well-spoken, he dominated his new pupils with a voice that commanded attention and a withering look that demanded respect. “Master Holmes?” 

Joe pointed to Sherlock. “Sherlock. What is history?” Sherlock shook his head as eighteen heads turned to look at him. “Come on, you've got to do this at some point. It might as well be now. Answer the question.” 

_The study of what has been?_ Sherlock's signs were nervous and his face conveyed more discomfort in this single moment than it had the entire day. 

“The study of what has been before.” Joe spoke up, and Mister Rayburne appeared pleased enough with his answer. 

“As Sherlock rightly said, history is the study of events that have come before this moment…” The master went on. 

“You see,” Joe elbowed Sherlock's arm. “Nobody sniggering, nobody mocking. They're getting used to you already. You should attempt to get used to them.” 

Sherlock drew his lips to the side. _I don't like this - I don't like being singled out._

“That's what happens at school, Sherlock. You learn, you get teased, and teachers ask you questions to assess what you know.” Joe signed swiftly. “You're an intelligent kid, what's wrong?” 

“I wa’t out here.” 

Sherlock's deep voice suddenly mumbling in broken words in his ear startled Joe a little. Mycroft had told him Sherlock didn't like to be oral at all, and had given up on speech therapy pretty early. So hearing that imperfect, garbled speech had been something of a surprise. Joe watched Sherlock push himself to his feet. 

“Where are you going?” Mister Rayburne spoke up. “Young man, return to your seat.” 

“He can't hear you, sir,” a young boy toward the far right hand of the classroom spoke up. “He's deaf, sir.”

“Sorry, excuse me; I'm sorry…” Joe got to his feet and followed as Sherlock left the room, looking oddly like he was hyperventilating (from the back, at least). As he stepped out of the classroom with Sherlock a step ahead, he reached out for Sherlock's shoulders and spun him around. “What's happening here? Tell me.” 

_Too much._ Sherlock waved both hands before his face and took heaving breaths. _Everyone was looking. I don't like when they look at me. I don't like this school. I want to go back to Farron Lodge._

“Your old school?” Joe asked. Sherlock nodded. Joe flattened his mouth into a thin line. “Deaf school?”

Sherlock nodded his head again. _My parents want me to go here because my Dad did. And Mycroft. But it has been one day and I feel like it's too much. Too many words. Too many people. Too few hands._

“It isn't easy, going somewhere new, and being the new face in an established place. It isn't easy for hearing people. It isn't exclusive to you because you're deaf. But I can see why a hearing school would be hard after you went to a deaf school before. A lot of adjustments. But you have to make adjustments. The world you live in is full of hearing people - your brother and your parents are some of those people. And even if you don't like it, your culture mixes with theirs and will continue to do so for the rest of your life. Being deaf - in a hearing school - might be tough at first but it gives you so many opportunities. Your lip-reading skills will be second to none; your ability to function in hearing conversations will increase tenfold. And this school has so many classes that smaller, specialised schools don't always have. You can study all kinds of things here and you can even have a class wound into your curriculum just for you. If you want to bring your day to five periods and then take a speech therapy session, that can happen.” 

Sherlock crinkled up his nose and waved his hands in front of him. _Who said I wanted speech therapy?_

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Sorry - I just assumed. I thought you were going to a hearing school to improve your language.” 

Sherlock scowled. _I like being deaf. I like the language, I like the culture, I like way it looks. I like my hands. I don't want your language. And I don't want this school if all being here will do is push your language on to me._

Joe held up his hands in defense and circled his right hand in the centre of his chest in a fist. “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know you've found today rough. I didn't mean anything by-,” 

_In the toilets, by the canteen, some boy called me freak. I could see it perfectly clear. F-R-E-A-K._ he fingerspelled the word slowly. _I know that word. I know what it is to be called that. At Farron Lodge, nobody called me that because everybody shared the same language, the same culture, the same senses. Here - I am that. F-R-E-A-K. Because if I talk I know that it doesn't sound like how you talk, if I use my language it looks funny. I don't fit in here._ Sherlock breathed out heavily. 

“I'm sorry you got called that name.” Joe said sincerely, signing softly, with emotion rather than animation. “My sister is deaf, that is why I know BSL. I probably wouldn't if she was hearing. But I love that culture - her culture, your culture. Sign language is so beautiful and expressive to watch; your deaf-voice is unique. Those aspects of who you are do not make you a freak - not even here. It makes the people who chose to be so rude and judgemental the freaks. I'm proud to be a part of your own little piece of a private world. You should be too. Deaf Pride is something you should carry every day, in your heart and in your expression. Don't ever let the word freak mean something negative against you. Turn it around, shrug it off, throw random signs at them until they get nervous and run…” Sherlock smiled. “But don't feel you have to use a part of your person you're not comfortable with to try and be what they want. If you don't want to speak, then don't. Let the people here come to you and find a piece of you they love on their own merit, don't feel you have to change to make them think you're something else.” 

Sherlock's right hand swept down from his chin and he smiled, eyes bright, at Joe. _Thank you. Outside of school, it's only ever my parents and Mycroft who think pride in myself is worth anything._

“Well I've known you less than a day and I can see you are an awesome kid.” Joe said sincerely. “You can do well here; you're smart enough and determined enough. You just have to have a bit of faith in yourself.”


End file.
